


Null and Void, Until You

by SalamanderInk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Tony Stark, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heroes and Villains, Implied/Referenced discrimination, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Protective Loki (Marvel), Secret Identity, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-23 00:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderInk
Summary: Hero fights villain, villain sets deadly trap, hero narrowly avoids their complete obliteration while maintaining banter—that is what Loki is used to. It’s almost routine by now, though an enjoyable one. The Man of Iron has always been far more clever than the others.But why isn’t he getting up?
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 99





	Null and Void, Until You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Sesil!  
> (Late I know... ooops?)  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!  
> Thank you tiny (BennyBatch) for the beta read and the cheering!

“Get up.”

The hero groans instead, his metal shell clanging as he rolls over, hiding his head under an arm. 

Loki frowns. The Man of Iron is usually never one to simply give up, or to wallow in self pity. And yet, here he is, doing both. 

Perhaps some villain monologue might do the trick? 

“Are you willing to let these innocents pay the price for your laziness, Man of Iron? If you wish to simply lay down your arms and surrender to me, I have no objections. I will allow you a swift death before I get to destroy everything you hold dear and subjugate your precious city!”

It doesn’t work. The Man of Iron only sighs wearily, and if possible, the metal seems to slump even further. 

Loki  _ might _ be getting a little concerned. 

The Man of Iron has always been his favorite hero. He’s clever and witty, and never preaches about things as boring as abstract moral principles of ‘good and evil’ or the likes. Instead, their bouts tend to feel more like  _ games, _ the spark of challenge and banter making Loki’s blood race with adrenaline and his eyes shine with power. 

This. This is  _ not _ normal. 

Loki crouches down, eyes narrowing at the hero’s prone form. 

“Man of Iron. What are you doing.”

Is this a ploy? 

The armor’s faceplate shutters, revealing the tired face of a man. Brown eyes look bleak, mouth pulled in a tight line. 

Loki gasps, leaning forward. He’s always been more than curious about the man inside the armor, wondering whether it was a man of flesh or of metal entirely, or if the metal had in fact been empty, his opponent safely far away controlling a metal puppet from afar. 

He finds himself selfishly pleased that his guess had been right. That those endless hours snarking back and forth were with a real person, that he hadn't been alone in his battles of wits, that the stakes were just as real for his Man of Iron as they were to him. 

But while he has his answer now; it only opens so many more questions. 

Why is someone like  _ Tony Stark _ piloting the armor? A man with his psy-levels null, who had never set foot in a hero academy or even expressed the desire to do so? 

But mostly, why is he looking at Loki like he expects, or even  _ wants _ the villain to simply kill him and be done with it? 

As though Loki would ever give up his favorite hero. Really, now. 

But what should he  _ do _ with this unexpectedly uncooperative opponent? 

If Loki prides himself of anything, it is his unpredictability. Commenting on the face he’s just revealed just… lacks taste. Loki is not unaware of the stigma that follows psi-nulls, or any mundane attempting to do a hero’s work. Or Stark himself specifically. 

“Don’t believe I will be swayed by you making eyes at me, Man of Iron. You have forfeited our games and it is only my mercy that keeps you from my traps. What will that cost you, I wonder?”

But his Man of Iron barely reacted, eyes dull and full of banked anguish. Something is very wrong. Neither the Man of Iron nor Stark is ever silent. 

What happened to him?

Loki growls, standing up and dispelling the field of traps surrounding them. Death traps are only made to spice things up and to pit his mind against his hero’s brilliance. There’s no use to them if his opponent prefers to sulk and let himself be ‘killed’. 

As if Loki would ever allow it. 

“Get up,” he repeats. It has about as much effect as the first time. 

Loki rolls his eyes, just about  _ done _ with the Man of Iron’s theatrics. A simple wave of his hands has his limp guest floating around behind him, following him down the bare corridors into the heart of his lair, a place much more lived-in, warmer. Comfier. It’ll be better for what he has in mind. 

The armor floats down onto a chair, and Loki busies himself with setting up a table. A plate of cookies, the sugar and the cream, a few cups — no mugs, they’d never been his style —. The coffee machine starts growling, crunching the beans and steaming the water through its pipes. Loki would have asked if his guest preferred tea but Tony Stark is a notorious coffee lover, so he supposes he’s safe with the dark brew. 

His hero seems to come back to life when the cup is placed between his armored hands and Loki watches with fascination as the gloves retract into the arms. The transition is seamless, an absolute marvel of technology and genius. Loki always loves getting to witness the small details that show off the Man of Iron’s genius. 

He leans back, watching carefully as Stark starts to sip his coffee, still slow, the gesture almost unconscious. Obviously, the hero’s mind isn’t quite present. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

What? 

Loki frowns at Stark, incredulous. 

“Is that what you were trying to do? Suicide by villain? And you meant to use  _ me _ to do so?”

The gall. 

There is something really wrong with that man. Loki looks closer. He’d already seen the silence and the bleakness, but he can see more clearly now that they’re in the light. There are bags under Stark’s eyes, a bone deep tiredness that shows in his slump, in the strange slackness of his face. His voice is hoarse, as though he has not spoken in so long he’s forgotten how to use it. 

He looks  _ exhausted. _

Which is ridiculous, even yesterday Stark was a host in yet another interview advocating for the rights of the mundanes, people who are essentially powerless in a world ruled by supernatural abilities. Commendable, really, though when he’d seen it, Loki had thought it a pipe dream. 

Now, knowing who had actually stood against him all these years, he finds himself rethinking that stance. The admiration he’d held for the Man of Iron is unchanged, even knowing the secret identity of the hero. 

He would not dare say that he admires him  _ more, _ knowing that a psi-null is putting himself in such danger. Putting that kind of thing in the balance would be an insult to one who’d been arguing for so long about being treated the same. About having the same rights. 

No, Loki finds this pleasing. Stark’s character is much more palatable than Hammer’s or Roger’s, and it is  _ such _ a shame that those sad excuses of self-importance won the genetic lottery and obtained a Gift, while Stark’s sheer brilliance remains forgotten. A footnote, or worse, the butt-end of a joke. 

Or he would find it pleasing if his favorite human did not look so drained. 

Suddenly, Loki feels like smiting something. Or someone. Whichever is the cause of such a worn look in eyes that are supposed to shine with mirth and cleverness. How many times had he wished to see what effect his words had on his Man of Iron, or yearned for them to play unmasked and see his fiendish smile mirrored on the only man he’d considered his equal. 

To think, his hero only showed himself hoping for Loki to  _ kill him. _

“No! No. I don’t think so.”

Loki’s eyes snap back to Stark’s, narrowed as they observe the way he seems to struggle for his words. A tongue tied Tony Stark. Many of those so called heroes would enjoy such a sight. Loki does not. 

“Then what? What would bring you to walk into a field of death traps and just lay down to wait? Did you think the countdown was for decoration?”

Stark’s smile turns wry. 

“Coulda fooled me.”

Loki frowns. Fair enough. They hadn’t really tried to kill each other for so long now that he hardly even bothered with lethal weaponry when his hero came by. He didn’t much care if the others got singed, frozen solid or burned to a crisp, but he didn't want his Man of Iron to be harmed, even by accident. He didn’t think the other had noticed, though, he’d certainly never taken Loki lightly regardless and he always managed to solve the riddles long before their fake activations anyway. 

“What gave it away?” 

Stark shrugs. The gesture looks strange on him, not quite casual or teasing as it should have been, more like the slow roll of a wave, rising with the push of the sea before crashing limply on the beach. “I was a guess, mostly. A hunch.”

“You gambled your life on a  _ hunch?” _

Stark winces, eyes skittering to the side. Loki breathes out, hoping to calm his temper. The last thing Stark needs right now is for Loki to take out his anger on him. 

“Well, lucky you, I do not actually want you dead. Now, you will tell me in great detail what brought you to my door in this state, and then I will decide who to kill for this.”

Stark frowns, puts down his cup. It’s empty. The hero is not so far gone as to resist his favorite brew. Loki is relieved, and pours him a second cup. Starks takes it with a grateful smile, the frown smoothing out. 

Then his mouth purses again. “Aren't you going to comment?”

Loki blinks. “On what?”

Starks looks at him as though he’s gone crazy. Loki resents that. If anything  _ Stark _ is the one being weird there. “You’re not going to say anything?” 

Loki blinks, a small suspicion growing in his mind of what exactly Stark is referring to. He does not like it. 

“About what, Man of Iron? About how my favorite hero decided to bring his moping to my lair? About how he looks as though he’s been run over by a dozen semi-trucks  _ and it is not by my hand? _ About how  _ he refuses to tell me  _ who I should smite for daring to touch  _ my _ nemesis?” 

Stark almost blushes at that, the possessiveness in Loki’s tone unmistakable. 

The protectiveness, too. 

A Secret for a secret, it was only fair after all. Loki’s voice softens with his next words.

“Or about the way my favorite hero, who was apparently addled enough to come seeking emotional counsel from a  _ villain, _ decided to reveal his greatest secret to one who should be his enemy?” 

Green holds brown, Loki’s stare intense as it bores into Stark’s. 

“Just speak, Stark. Tell me who brought you so low, and I will avenge you. Tell me what ails you and I will alleviate it. Tell me anything you desire and I will offer it to you on a golden platter. I would lay the world at your feet if you so wished it.”

Tony’s eyes widen, something terribly vulnerable flashing in there before he hunches his shoulders, averting his gaze. 

“It’s not the first time you offer me something like that. What makes you think my answer changed?”

Loki leans back, sipping his tea as he thinks of the best way to answer. He has his hero here, in his inner sanctum, unguarded and insecure, the perfect prey to be snatched up by any manipulator with nefarious intentions. 

However, Loki does not wish to ensnare his hero with pretty lies and empty promises or reassurances, he has no intentions of bending that brilliant mind into dependency or distress. 

And Stark is much too clever to fall for such a scheme regardless. For once, Loki is glad to be talking with someone impervious to most manipulations. 

So Loki takes his time, thinking. He needs to be, Norns forbid,  _ honest. _ Sincerity can be felt, much like conviction or disdain. And Loki wants—Norns help him—Loki wants Stark to  _ trust him.  _ To rely on him and come to him in his times of trouble,  _ which he had done already, _ but also to share them with him and accept to be comforted. By Loki. 

He must be mad to yearn for such a thing. He is a villain, the Man of Iron is a hero, the lines are not so much drawn in the sand as cast in concrete. 

But his Man of Iron, his hero, has already crossed so many lines today. Or even before today, without Loki even being aware of it, though the faint taste of chaos that followed in his wake should have given Loki any manner of suspicion.  _ Would have _ , if he had been less distracted by the mortal’s sheer brilliance and snark. 

A psi-null posing as a hero, fighting on the same front as superpowered people, who keeps fighting Loki’s game even knowing it’s rigged, who bantered and snarked with a villain for the sheer pleasure of it. Who comes to a villain’s lair in his time of weakness. 

No, this dazzling mess of humanity is the brightest gem in the whole quarry, and Loki would be damned again if he lets it slip through his fingers. 

“You came to me.”

Stark sighs, because this is a truth he can’t argue against. 

Loki watches, a predator filing away any potential hopes in their prey’s defense. 

“I… did. I’m not sure why.”

Loki nods. He isn’t offended, Tony’s choice to come here was indeed rather incongruous, and he’d be more suspicious if it  _ was _ deliberate. Whims he can understand, they often show the truth of one’s heart. When one starts to think through their choices, they start being calculating, they attempt to manipulate events to their advantage. This was genuine, reckless, almost desperate. 

Undoubtedly honest. 

How flattering. His little hero  _ trusts _ him. 

“Tell me, Stark. I will listen.”

And Stark does. 

He speaks of his gruelling day to day life as a psi-null, the way his business is being passed over more often than not for Hammer’s due to nothing more than the notoriety of his psi-ability. A ridiculous and useless one, but it still puts him above a true, yet mundane, genius. He speaks of his desire to make a change, to bring true equity, to earn respect for other mundanes like him, and the roadblocks he faces, the laughter and jeering, the eyerolls that he would usually be able to shrug off but felt just a bit too much for him on that day. 

He speaks of his debut as Iron Man, his desire to make a change and prove that psi-nulls can do what psi-gifted do just as well if not better, only for him to start enjoying the work itself, the life he’d created, the friends he’d made. 

And then hearing said friends disparage his other personna and the very purpose of the movement he’s trying to create. 

He speaks of a woman, and Loki’s heart tightens, though he keeps listening. He speaks of a woman who is both a partner of business and a partner of life, but one who was not able to understand or abide Tony’s choices, his need to change the world, to break the rules and trample the lines. Who saw the mask of Iron Man and balked, asked him to lie to her and pretend it wasn’t true. Asked him to stop, called him mad. Left him. 

He speaks of no great ill but a hundred tiny cuts that cleaved into his too bright heart and left him bleeding out, bone-weary and distrustful. Angry yet grieving, hopeless yet frantic. He speaks of stretching himself thinner and thinner, of being so very alone and unheard, of not knowing toward whom he could turn. 

And Loki listens. 

In the end, when Tony has worn himself out, spilled out his every secrets and woes, sobbed and raged at the unfairness of it all, Loki wipes away his tears and holds him close, feeling the human relax against him. Not the dejected and limp slump of before, but the relaxed fatigue of emotions spent and catharsis achieved. 

The armor lies at their feet, a neat box that looks much smaller than should be possible for the armor’s sheer volume, a feat of engineering that looks so much closer to magic than mundane science, a testament of Tony’s exceptional mind. 

“You’ve done well, Stark. You’ve done all that you could have done with the tools you had, much more even than anyone could have ever expected. Your mind is a wonder and there is no other being on this planet than I would rather be close to, psi-gifted or not. You are impressive all by yourself, but you’re not alone anymore.”

Later, Loki will talk strategy with Tony, ask him what he wishes to do, which side to choose, if any, and what to tell the press. If he wants to reveal himself or remain anonymous, if he wants to become a villain instead to better shake up the foundations of their society. 

Later still, Loki will take his hero to dinner. Perhaps with some flowers, or some eldritch trinket that he could tinker at and improve his marvels with. Later Loki will court Tony properly with all the respect and admiration he deserves. 

If Tony allows it, he may even enact some form of revenge on those who’d wronged him, or push some of his contacts to smooth the way for some of the changes he wants to see implemented. 

But all of that can wait. Right now, there’s only one thing that Loki wants for his hero. 

One thing he needs to hear.

“You can rest, Tony. You’re not alone anymore.”

Because Loki will be watching, will be there to support him whenever he asks, or to trust him whenever he needs. 

Loki’s most interesting mortal had decided to walk straight into his traps and forfeit, to lay his life in Loki’s hands. 

Loki won’t let him down. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought <3


End file.
